Under the Arena
In the dim light of the catacombs beneath the Grand Arena, Lambi closed his eyes, since it was nearly impossible to see anyway. For a moment he sat in darkness with his eyes closed, listening to the crackle of cheap torches and letting the smoky scent of the place fill his nostrils. The savor of a flavorful yet bitter wine lingered on his tongue. It was not very good, but it had flavor, which might be the best thing that could be said for it. It might be the last drink Lambi ever had. That was the source of the name of the establishment in which he found himself.
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